


Crush

by ficfacfoe



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfacfoe/pseuds/ficfacfoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina is no longer the cruel, heartless Evil Queen she once was, that much is undeniable. But how did that happen? And whose fault is it, exactly? </p>
<p>And how come this silent, gradual change of the mayor's personality had begun when a certain Savior entered Storybrooke, took a chainsaw to her apple tree, and started fighting all kinds of evil to protect their son?</p>
<p>And how can she possibly make it stop?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soft

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prologue. I highly appreciate all kinds of comments/feedback/criticism!

She makes her heart pound.

Fast. So fast.

Emma Swan makes Regina's heart pound because Emma Swan irritates Regina, annoys her, confuses her.

But most of all, Emma made her soft.

And Regina has absolutely no clue how to do _soft_.

When she's angry nowadays, she doesn't kill innocent people. She doesn't destroy things.

Now, she has all these feelings, all this rage, but can't make herself enjoy it. She despises it. She wants _happiness_.

And that makes her feel way too young, way too desperate, way too... soft.

Graham had been the last. The last innocent life she took. And he was the first to make Regina's heart clench uncomfortably as she was squeezing his into ashes, thinking of their new Sherriff, the mother of her son.

Her son. Her weakness. She couldn't loose him.

And the anger burning inside her was rather a memory than a feeling, more fear than anything else; flight, not fight. As she crushed the man's heart, she didn't revel in it. She felt wrong, weak.

Henry. Weakness. But it wasn't that. She was doing what had to be done for her to be able to keep Henry. She was fighting the intrudor. And _that_ was what felt wrong. She didn't _want_ to fight her. Emma Swan wasn't the secret-spilling little princess, wasn't the painfully romantic peasant her genes would suggest. Emma Swan was _real_. And something about this woman stirred long forgotten truths deep inside Regina's soul, remenicent of the one real thing she'd had and lost, reminicent of a real life of her own. Of happiness. And _god_ , she hated how she loved it.

Henry never had made her soft. Henry didn't make her change, no matter how hard he'd tried.

Emma never even tried.

Emma doesn't look at her like that, like everyone who knew her as her true evil self, because that self had somehow, miraculously disappeared, upon the blonde's arrival. The savior. Curse-breaker. Emma broke some curse inside Regina, that she was certain of. And Regina would never admit this, but even with Henry she had felt trapped, had _been_ trapped, frozen in time. Emma woke her up. Woke all of them up. Broke the curse.

And now, Regina has to deal with her soft, fragile, post-curse self.

It's undeniable. She is no longer an Evil Queen.

And with time, and an unsurprisingly huge amount of fearful magical creatures to fight, toghether, Regina catches herself thinking of Emma not only as Henry's but as her family. Their family.

The first time her mouth forms the words "our son," Regina wants to curse her own tongue. It doens't, however, take long for her to accept it. Soon she finds herself sitting in a booth at Granny's with Emma and her parents, which is ridiculous, really. But she's okay, because Emma calls them out on their obnoxious prince-and-princess behaviour whenever she can, and it makes Regina laugh.

And when she looks at Emma and Emma smiles back she doesn't have the strentgh to force her own smile away from her face, because Emma -

She calms her heart down.


	2. Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma hates the term Savior, and the inescapable responsibility that comes with it. Because what if she saves someone who will ruin a life? What if she saves the one person who will destroy her friend's happiness?
> 
> Marian is back. Regina is crushed. Emma has too many feelings about everything.
> 
> How can she redeem herself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I can't promise frequent updates, but this is a thing now. And it is a FLUFFY thing, wowzers. Basically, this is Emma accidentally suggesting she would "make it up" to Regina, and then not so accidentally finding out how much she does want just that. 
> 
> Come say hello in the comments or on tumblr (ficfacfoe.tumblr.com) and leave feedback!!! <3

Emma knocks.

108.

Nothing.

She can almost feel the newly reborn, same old hatred simmering through the thick door.

And yet, it feels nothing like those first few times she’d stood right where she’s standing now.

Because she knows Regina, now. Knows the former _Evil Queen_ , the one she briefly got to actually see, not too long ago, strutting through a forest in leather and cleavage, black and red.

But that’s not the Regina she knows.

She knows _Regina_ , now.

She knows the feelings. She has felt them too. Hatred, pain, anger. Loss. It feels purple as it rushes through her lungs, every breath strained, every beat of her stammering heart a bit wrong. A bit misunderstood. _I didn’t mean it_ , it spells, against the inside of a too tight ribcage. A hollow ribcage. A thousand contradictions and a painfully contracting muscle. It's beginning to feel pitch black.

Emma knocks again, sighs. Her forehead has come to rest against the cold, metallic numbers when she hears soft steps on the other side of the door.

She almost forgets to step back when the lock clicks.

And the door doesn’t fly open, and there is not the intimidating major in a tight skirt with a vile smile on perfectly red lips.

Regina is wearing socks.

Emma cathces herself wondering if she’s ever seen the major without shoes on before.

And then the visual is gone, as is the woman she so desperately wants to talk to.

108.

Door slamming shut, right in front of her.

And Emma doesn’t blame her, of course not. Emma knows, now, what exactly she has done. Emma _knows_ , now.

It’s late.

And she wants to go back in time, again, and let the woman die.

It’s too late.

And really, she wants to go back in time again to do exactly what she’s done once more. Because she doesn’t let innocent people be murdered. And she doesn’t want a family torn. But that's only the good reasons. The bad ones are the ones that have been preoccupying her restless mind these past few days, because now that Marian is here, Regina is unhappy. Regina has lost Robin.

She doesn’t want Regina unhappy.

She doesn’t want Regina happy with Robin.

And there is no good reason for that.

 

The darkness hammers and puckers inside her chest.

Emma's fist hits the door in frustration, absentmindedly. The door flies open.

There she is.

“ _What on earth_ do I have to do for you to _leave me alone_ , Miss Swan,” is being yelled at her, and _there she is_ , intimidating, angry, hostile. Socks on wooden floorboards. Fire in her eyes, and maybe at the tips of her fingers, clenched into tight fists.

“I won’t apologise,” Emma decides right there, “I won’t, Regina. I’m not sorry.”

But she notices the dark circles under the other woman’s eyes, makeup-less, red. And Emma wants to scream, _wants_ to be sorry, but finds herself suddenly breathless at the staccato beating of her heart, at the vision of happiness lost in front of her, somehow still so very elegant on Regina's tired face. Emma shakes her head.

She needs to make this better. She doesn’t want anything else. She doesn’t want to want this, whatever it is that she's trying to do, but she’s standing at this door and before all this Regina had started becoming her friend, hell, her family, and-

“Look,” she starts, and wonders for a moment why the door hasn’t been shut in her face again, “I can’t change what I’ve done,” and Regina scoffs, but it’s tired, and Emma winces.

“I want to make it up to you.”

“And how,” Regina scowls, stepping closer to Emma, who is still on the other side of the doorway, “how exactly do you plan on doing that, hmm?” 

Emma doesn’t know, doesn’t even know why she said, but knows that she has to find a way. It’s not like she’s suggesting to kill Marian. There has to be another way, because Marian is innocent, and a mother, and a wife to Robin Hood. Emma really doesn’t regret saving her. No. But she needs to make this hopelessness disappear from Regina’s eyes, needs to stop her own goddamn heart from skipping beats at the sight. Regina has cocked her head to one side in question now, red-rimmed eyes narrowed, not leaving Emma’s face. Regina's lips a straight line. And maybe there is hope in her expression, maybe Regina thinks that there might be another way, too. Her lips are a straight line. Emma’s brain quietly registers the woman’s eyebrows rising while Emma’s eyes can’t move away for a moment. Stay fixed on lips she’s never seen without lipstick before, and wow, what?

She hears Regina sigh, and step back, and then, “for the love of god, either get inside or leave, I’m not having this conversation in my doorway.”

Emma is surprised that she is being given a choice, not just sent away. No angry screaming. No fireballs. Something inside her flutters at the thought. At the soft sound of Regina’s sock-clad feet on the floor.

The door quietly clicks shut behind her.

Emma takes off her shoes. Regina frowns at her, eyes full of questions. And, at least _full of questions_ is a little less empty. _I want to make it up to you_ , whispers Emma’s own voice inside her head. _And how exactly do you plan on doing that?_ As Regina walks ahead into the kitchen, Emma follows silently, her head filling with hazy images of entirely impossible scenarios, most of them involving Emma finding out precisely what slightly chapped, lipstick-less lips would feel like against her own. And no, those are ridiculous thoughts, it's not like Regina just misses having someone to make out with. She lost her soulmate. Right?

Emma is being handed a mug. “Well, I won’t let you dehydrate, will I,” is the explanation she receives from a Regina, hand waving dismissively through the air while her face changes from an angry to an only slightly grumpy frown, which looks impossibly cute on a sleep-deprived major.

Emma shakes her head at herself. Says, “thanks,” and takes a sip.

And thinks about ways to _make it up to you_.

“Why did you let me in?” is all she can think to ask, hoping that maybe Regina has a sensible explanation, one that doesn't involve Emma replacing a soulmate's lips with her own, but also hoping the exact opposite, and whoa, her voice is shakier than she’d expected.

Regina turns to look at her. Emma’s eyes flicker down.

And she could swear she sees the corner of Regina’s mouth twitch upwards.

“Excuse me,” comes Regina’s response, almost amusedly, “didn’t I hear you say somthing about making this all up to me?”

And Emma swallows. Because yes. She really, really wants to. And she said. She wants to. She wants.

They’re standing close. By the counter. Emma sets her mug down.

“Regina, I-”

A hand is lifted in between them, shushing her. A curious, questioning expession on Regina’s face. “Do you really think words are gonna do,” she husks, “Miss Swan?”

And Emma swallows hard, again.

She shakes her head. Blinks, as if the eye contact is too bright when really, pools of darkness are staring back. Blinding darkness. Burning darkness. Beating inside her chest, simmering under her gaze.

And Emma leans in, unintentionally. Lets the darkness do its pulling.

One of her hands comes up to cup Regina’s cheek. The skin there is warm, and unspeakably soft. Regina’s eyes are still open, mabye a bit wider than a second ago as they keep boring into Emma’s. They are nose to cheek, cheek to nose, breath to breath to lips to-

Regina grabs at the hand on her cheek. Emma halts. “What do you think you’re doing,” Regina whispers, and Emma’s stomach twist and turns and she doesn’t know, god. She can’t think. She can barely breathe because every breath she takes is filled with the heady scent of the other woman’s skin, her lungs filling with purple sparks and swirling smoke. Heat seems to have glued Regina’s hand to hers. And Emma whispers back, without thinking, “Making it all better?”

Regina abruptly takes a step back, without letting go of her hand. Glued togehter. Soft grip hardening. The woman’s gaze is cast down now, eyebrows narrowed, and Emma tries to make sense of the blush that has crept up on pale skin.

But then Regina’s eyes snap up, and the grip on Emma’s hand is almost painful.

“What the hell, Miss Swan,” is being hissed at her, exasperatedly, and it bites and tugs at Emma’s insides, but then the hurt that has flickered through her chest turns into anger, because, “What did you _think_ I would do?”

“Not that!”

And her hand is still in Regina’s tight grip, held up in between their chests. They’re still far too close. She just wants to _comfort_  the woman. She just wants-

Emma grabs at Regina’s shoulder with her free hand, rubs her thumb up and down, unintentionally making her back up into the counter. Emma looks into purple swirling through brown eyes, and is so confused, so infuriated, so-

Her hand falls limply to her side when Regina abruptly lets it go from in between them, and then she’s being pulled closer by two soft hands sliding behind her ears, and then Regina’s bare lips are upon hers in a kiss that pulls and bites and bruises, and Emma has no choice in leaning in, grabbing at hips and shoulders and gasping, kissing back.

Regina’s fingers bury further into her hair, nails scaping the skin of Emma’s skull, and it takes all the strength she’s got not to moan at the sensation.

And then Regina moans.

Emma has tightened her grip on the woman’s hips unintentionally, and lets go in shock, because _what the hell is she doing, what the hell are they doing, what the-_

“No,” Regina mumbles against Emma’s mouth, not a trace of sadness in her voice, only lust, and, “don’t stop.”

And heat rushes through Emma's entire body at that, hands going back immediately. They don’t stay on Regina’s hips this time but go behind her, to the small of her back where her shirt has come untucked already, and skin is fire and Emma is done for. “Shit,” she mutters in a breathless attempt to collect her thoughts, before Regina pulls at Emma’s hair and buries a hot mouth in the crook of a hotter neck.

This doesn't feel like redemption. This doesn't feel like Regina is trying to replace something, someone. Not with the way she is kissing Emma's neck right now.

Everything feels on fire. Everything feels like burning. And fire requires oxygen, so Emma takes a deep breath and she can’t help the whimper that escapes her as she lets it out again. She thinks she hears a snicker. She feels it, against her throat.

She grabs Regina’s ass, hard. “Goddamn it, Swan,” Regina bites, voice low and throaty.

“Swan?” Emma asks breathlessly, “really?”

The only response she gets is a low hum that she’s sure could shatter bones, or at least makes her knees go very, very weak. Regina must have noticed, because she spins them around in a matter of seconds, Emma now against the counter. And the eye contact is absolutely ruining her. They just stand and stare for a moment, Emma wondering how and when Regina’s eyes went from empty pools of hopelessness to dark dark fire burning right through Emma’s soul, and Regina thinking god knows what. And then Regina growls, and that settles that, so Emma melts into another series of soft, soft kisses.

And how can an Evil Queen possibly feel so soft when she's tugging at lips with her teeth at the same time? How can any of this even be happening, really?

Emma almost doesn't register the hand at the hem of her shirt, only rolls her hips into the touch on her lower abdomen. But then fingers are fumbling with the clasp of her jeans, and whoa, whoa.

"Wait," she manages, almost inaudible due to her breathlessness, but Regina hears, halts. Leans back to stare into Emma's eyes, and it _burns_.

But this can't be happening. She tries to gather her thoughts. A warm hand moves to her hip, stays there, and the way it has Emma's skin tingling is very much happening.

The way Regina is quietly staring at her with dilated pupils is also very much happening.

And then the woman asks, almost robotically, "Having second thoughts about that whole _making it all better_  thing?"

"What?" Emma can hardly recall the conversation they'd had before she found out precisely how Regina's mouth tastes. She wanted to make it all better, right. Second thoughts? "No," she answers, because that's certainly not it. She does want that. But now she also wants to keep kissing Regina. Two seperate things. And that, she thinks, might be a problem.

"Well," Emma tries, "this doens't feel like-" and shit, she really shouldn't finish that sentence, and she can't, because there are lips on her own again, peckering them with sweet, soft kisses. And then the absolute opposite of a voice sneers, "feel a little dirty now, don't we," and Emma moans, because fuck, because-

"No, that's not exactly what I meant."

And the way Regina kisses her once again, soft and slow, suggests that she might know what Emma actually meant, but also knows that it shouldn't be said.

Because Emma _making it up to her_ at least makes some sense.

There really can't be any other reason they're making out in Regina's kitchen right now.

There really, really can't be.

And Emma is allowed to think it's hot, beause god, it's _Regina_ , of course it's hot, _she's_ hot.

So Emma focuses on that, and tries to ignore how very soft everything about this woman is, and how soft the fluttering of her heart has become.

She tries not to let her mind wander anywhere the dangerous territory of what Regina might look like in the morning, more soft waves of hair, and sock clad feet.

She fails, miserably. 

"I can hear you thinking," Regina mumbles into the kiss, one that has lasted about a minute or maybe forever, and Emma finally breaks away and looks. And breathes. 

"I want to kiss you," Emma states, eloquently, and feels so stupid. She receives an expected, "you just did," and a frown.

And yeah, she has. But that's not what she meant, and Regina must have understood, because she nods, slowly.

Still, she repeats, "I _want_ to kiss you," not quite believing that those words are leaving her lips, in this house, this kitchen, with the Evil goddamn Queen.

"Well," Regina says, and removes herself entirely from Emma's touch at once, hands smoothing down her shirt, "then that defeats the purpose of you making things up to me, doesn't it."

Emma grins. Because the way Regina is standing there looks forced, stiff, like she has to restrain herself in order to keep her hands off Emma, which shouldn't be making her feel this giddy, but _god_. God. This is about Regina, though. This is about Marian and Robin and Regina's happy ending, not about the tension that has maybe been building in between them since they first met. That one could cut with a knife right now.

"Will you ever forgive me?"

Regina blinks. And smiles, softly. 

"Mabye."

It sounds a lot like _maybe I already have_.

Emma swallows. "Right. Alright, I should," and she gestures vaguely at nothing in particular. Her jeans feel too tight and her cheeks too hot, and she really needs to go.

Regina nods. "Right."

They walk to the door.

Regina opens it, steps back, and does a weird half-bow towards Emma.

It's so uncomfortable, so out of character and just _cute_ , Emma can't help laughing. And even as Regina tries to glare, a smile appears on the woman's own face. "Right," Emma says once again, and wow, she really needs to expand her vocabulary, "bye?" That sounded like a question. Regina is clearly amused, and answers, "I'll see you around, Miss Swan."

Emma nods, grins, and then waves awkwardly, stumbling through the doorway backwards.

She can still feel her lips tingling the next morning.

 


End file.
